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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27482422">The Saints of Chicago</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ayla9072/pseuds/Ayla9072'>Ayla9072</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>1950s, Detectives, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Gay Panic, M/M, Panic Attacks, Slow Burn, The Author Regrets Everything, Threats of Violence, Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 20:21:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>15,217</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27482422</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ayla9072/pseuds/Ayla9072</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>CC Tinsley. Navy Veteran, now Detective of Chicago. He is working a case that might change the entire course of his city, and maybe his life. </p><p>Ricky Goldsworth. Charming son of the Mayor of Chicago. Rumors say that he is involved with the mob, but be careful. Words can have consequences you couldn't even imagine. </p><p>Follow these characters in the case that will change lives.</p><p>**Hi! This is my first fic, and I would really appreciate it if you took a look!**</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>"Night Night" Bergara/"Legs" Madej, Holly Horsley/Francesca Norris, Ricky Goldsworth/C. C. Tinsley, Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>71</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hi! So, this is my first fic on this website, even though I have been here for a bit. I really like Buzzfeed Unsolved, so I decided to write this fic because I love Tinsley, Ricky, and the whole 'detective noir' aesthetic that comes with it. I have a few more chapters, but they are still in the editing phase. I will add more tags as I get further into the story. Hope you enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Detective CC Tinsley sighed, looking in dismay at the scene around him, unkempt hair blowing in the wind. He had been called, at 4 in the morning, no less, for a crime that had been committed just on the outskirts of town.</p><p>The crime? Murder.</p><p>Now, this was nothing new. In a city like Chicago, you were bound to have a few killers here and there, looking for an easy way to get money or drugs. But the detective had been looking into this specific killer for the past few months, and it was beginning to get on his nerves.</p><p>You see, this killer was elusive, and, according to Tinsley’s research, had been killing for the past couple of years, long before the police department had caught on. They simply assumed that it was the stragglers, never looking at the bigger picture.</p><p>Tinsley walked towards the house on the road, surrounded by sirens and blue and red lights, lighting up the houses. It was a nice neighborhood, with two-story houses lined with white picket fences. Lawns pristine, and not a blade of grass out of place. Some would call it the “perfect American dream”. What a dream indeed.</p><p>Out of the corners of his eyes, he could see neighbors peeking out around their curtains, not wanting to be disrespectful, but curious no less. According to the call, the murder had only occurred an hour or two ago. Concerned neighbors hearing screams called the police, who in turn called Tinsley.</p><p>Chief Benjamin “Banjo” McClintock stood on the steps to the porch, greeting the detective with a nod. Tinsley nodded back, and followed the chief inside the house with the white picket fence, neither saying a word.</p><p>Just like all the murders before, the scene was gruesome. Blood splattered the walls and floor of the grimy living room, and the body, limp on the floor, was far from identifiable. The skin around the forehead had been cut, all around the head, mimicking a halo.</p><p>Cuts and bruises littered the body, and, in short, was complete overkill.</p><p>“Do we know who he is?” asked CC, glancing at the chief. McClintock only gave him a questioning look, eyebrow raised in the air, conveying the look of “Do we ever?”</p><p>Tinsley bent down, and slipped on a pair of rubber gloves that were offered to him. Examining the body, it was obvious that the cause of death was blood loss. The killer, who had named themself the “Angelmaker”, never delivered the final blow, opting to let the person die on their own. Causing the damage, but never completely responsible.</p><p>Tinsley noted bruises and cuts on the man’s knuckles and wrists, obviously putting up some kind of fight before being tied down. The rope had been taken with the killer, and no sign of a murder weapon was to be found, just like all the times before. Once again, they had virtually nothing to go off of besides presumption and assumptions.</p><p>Banjo glanced up at Tinsley, before looking down at the body. The man was a good foot shorter than the detective, but he didn’t let that deter him from being concerned about his best detective and cousin.</p><p>“What do you think?”</p><p>Tinsley was silent for a moment, before responding.</p><p>“I’m not sure. There’s too much.”</p><p>Banjo knew how Tinsley could get. He too was a detective once, and could imagine the horrors that these kinds of cases could bring. Especially when the detective in question became too obsessed.</p><p>“Lay it out for me. Think out loud. I want to see it from your eyes.”</p><p>Tinsley furrowed his brows in thought before looking around the room.</p><p>“This was obviously overkill, meaning that the killer either hated him, or enjoyed the kill. I’m leaning towards the latter, since they had killed before.”</p><p>He gestured to the living room with a gloved hand, devoid of personal belongings or furniture, boxes pushed against walls. The mantle to the stone fireplace lacked pictures of family or loved ones, and had gained a layer of dust from neglect.</p><p>“They were obviously stalking the man. There is nothing here that could suggest that he had a family or anything, really. The killer obviously caught him at an unfortunate time. Maybe he was moving, or caught in a divorce. We’ll have to question the neighbors.”</p><p>“In the morning,” said the chief. “We don’t want any more people hassling us because we disturbed their beauty sleep.”</p><p>Tinsley looked out the window, and frowned. “I think they’re doing that to themselves”, pointing out the crowd that had just formed outside of the house. Brave neighbors were trying to figure out what had happened. Reporters (how did they get here?) were trying to find a story. Officers were trying to keep people away in case they disturbed the scene. All in all, it was chaos.</p><p>“We should go,” said Tinsley, turning away from the scene. Banjo followed in step behind him, letting in the coroner and the forensic experts to deal with the body. He met the detective on the porch.</p><p>Tinsley gazed away from the crowd, seemingly in his own thoughts, before snapping back to reality when the chief approached him.</p><p>“I’ll check in with the coroner in the morning. Do you have any officers free to question the neighbors?”</p><p>Banjo nodded, and told the detective that he’ll send two in the morning. He glanced at him before descending the stairs.</p><p>“You should get some rest, cuz. It’s going to be another long week.”</p><p>The Chief of the Chicago Police Department headed towards his officers and started barking orders. The crowd had lessened to a small rumble, but he could still see a reporter or two, trying to get their first statement from Banjo.</p><p>Tinsley was just about to follow him, and hopefully get some real sleep, before he heard someone call his name. He turned his head to see Zeke? Zach? (Geez, he really needs more sleep.) The forensic scientist approached the detective, holding something in his gloved hand.</p><p>“I know I should give this straight to evidence, but it has your name on it. I thought you should take a look before sending it away.”</p><p>The detective cocked his head in confusion, before taking the envelope clutched in the man’s hand.</p><p>“We found it under the man’s body.” Well, that was evident. The envelope, while pristine, had dried blood lining the sides. Tinsley couldn’t quite open the envelope without breaking the fancy wax seal on the back, but on the front, clear as day, had “To My Detective” written on it. The handwriting was fancy, but there was no immediate indication of who had written it.</p><p>Tinsley should have been overjoyed. This was real, hard evidence. They could analyze the handwriting, and perhaps even narrow down the suspect list. Granted, handwriting analysis isn’t the best, but it was something.</p><p>When I, as the narrator, say that the police department had nothing, I mean nothing. The victims were never limited to a certain race, gender, or religion. Besides the similar killing methods, there was nothing indicating that any of the victims were connected. The killer always made sure that nothing was left at the crime scene. Well, nothing but a whole lot of blood and guts.</p><p>But the fact that the killer had now singled Tinsley out, even without a name, unnerved him. He knew that as soon as the forensics were done with the letter, he would have to read what they wanted to say to him, and his mind was racing with the possibilities that the letter could contain. Maybe a taunt, a threat, even a clue to who they were?</p><p>Tinsley nodded his thanks to the forensics expert, and gave the letter back, watching the man step back inside the house. Tinsley himself walked down the stairs, and towards his car. He ignored the reporters and neighbors around him, and kept silent. He knew that as soon as he stepped foot into the department, he would have to organize the influx of information that was being sent to him. Organize it, and try to fit the pieces to a puzzle that might never be solved, but that was the fun to it.</p><p>Tinsley smiled to himself, and watched the stars and night above him. He couldn’t wait for the morning.</p><p>----------------------------------------------</p><p>Ricardo ‘Ricky’ Goldsworth, local golden boy, parked in front of the manor on top of the hill. He had to admit that it was a risk leaving the slightest clue for the detective, but he honestly couldn’t resist. It was too much fun poking and teasing at the hounds that were called the police.</p><p>He knew the risks that could come with his letter, but with all truth, the detective had grown on him. He was certainly one of the longest standing detectives on his case; all the others grew too impatient, waiting for the next kill, or too obsessed with the way they could never seem to find him.</p><p>In his life, he had never been suspected or questioned for the deaths that littered the streets oh so often.</p><p>But really, who would ever suspect the mayor’s son?</p><p>Making sure that his ropes and knives were carefully hidden away in the corner of his trunk, he walked up the wide white steps that lead to his front door. He was careful not to stain it of the blood that was currently on his shirt or pants. It would be hell to clean up later.</p><p>As he opened the door, he could smell the cooking coming in from the kitchen, perhaps from his mother, Lucy Goldsworth. Even though they had a butler, she refused to hire a maid or cook. The Mayor of Chicago insisted that it was unbecoming to have someone cook for them when they could easily do it themselves.</p><p>Ricky didn’t mind. He learned all of his most important skills from his mother, and she was usually right. Having an absent father would construct that kind of turn out.</p><p>He entered the kitchen, absently grabbing a spare towel and wiping his hands. His mother looked up from the pan that she was cooking with, a wooden spoon held in her right hand. She frowned at the blood that stained his white collared shirt, crossing her arms over her chest, but nonetheless staying silent to his activities.</p><p>She smiled slightly. “Cariño, you know you shouldn’t stay out for too long. There’s a killer on the loose,” she said, jokingly.</p><p>Ricky chuckled slightly, shaking his head as he wiped his face. Peter’s blood had gotten everywhere, and it was starting to get on his nerves.</p><p>“Really, mama? I should go take care of him, then.”</p><p>She shook her head at her youngest child, turning back to the food.</p><p>“Go clean up. Francesca’s waiting for you in your room. Last time I saw her, she was quite mad at that stunt you pulled.”</p><p>Ricky winced, knowing how his best friend could get when she was annoyed at something. He gave his mother a quick peck on the cheek before heading back and up the stairs.</p><p>His house was big, but barely anyone lived there. He would never call it empty, though. The people he called his family were all under one roof, safe, and that’s all that he could ask for.</p><p>Lucy was right, as always. Francesca Norris was waiting in his room, sitting in an armchair in the corner, absent-mindedly throwing a dagger up and down. The dying moon’s light illuminated her face, lighting up her dark skin. She turned her head when he approached.</p><p>She gestured to the chair across from her, and he sat down obediently. He waited as Francesca analyzed his clothes and face, growing more anxious by the second. With her, you would never know what she was feeling or thinking. One minute, you could be having an empty conversation. The next, you would find yourself pinned underneath her, air knocked out of you. It all really depended on her mood.</p><p>Finally, “Did you have to leave the note?”</p><p>Ricky sighed, thanking God that it was just that. He smiled slightly.</p><p>“I wanted to have some fun?” He didn’t ask how she knew about that. Francesca always knew, one way or another.</p><p>Like an annoyed mother, Francesca let her head fall into her hand, rubbing her tired eyes. Her short, brown hair fell like a curtain around her face, and, unfortunately, her other hand was still clutching the knife.</p><p>She looked up, watching Ricky’s face morph into something apologetic. She sighed again, and stood up, turning away from the blood-soaked man.</p><p>“Just don’t let me catch you doing something that risky again, ok?” turning her head to side-eye him.</p><p>Ricky nodded frantically. “Yes, ma’am.” She nodded, satisfied, before leaving Ricky to clean himself up.</p><p>Francesca may have been his best friend, but it didn’t make her any less scary. However, that was what made her so special to the mob. ‘Every rose has its thorns’ as the Americans say.</p><p>Ricky let his thoughts wander as he took off his clothes and stepped into the shower. He took care of Peter Miller, an abusive alcoholic that had recently been divorced from his wife that had finally had enough of his crap. He deserved what got to him, and he didn’t feel the slightest bit guilty.</p><p>A lesson that Ricky had taken to heart would be “If you need to do something right, do it yourself”. He carried that sentence every time the police failed to take in a rapist or abuser. He held onto that lesson whenever he delivered justice to the men and women that tore and killed a person’s soul. It was only fair.</p><p>He only ever worked alone, seeing that it was easier to hide a secret when no one but him knew about it. Sure, his mother, Francesca, and the butler knew, but they were never part of the actual process. He trusted them.</p><p>He stepped out and took a look at himself in the mirror. He examined the bruises on his face and torso from Peter, who loved to fight when he hit the alcohol. At least his ex-wife would be getting some insurance.</p><p>The white scars from past fights set a stark contrast to his bronze skin. He would need to patch himself up again, and maybe ice his bruises before they became too visible. He can’t have people questioning him so soon.</p><p>He could hear his mother call him from the floor below, and he quickly set about dressing himself and starting down the stairs.</p><p>Breakfast was being served.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Ok, so I am so sorry for the weird chapter thing I just did. I wasn't satisfied with what I was doing before, so this is the new format. Each chapter is going to have both Tinsley's point of view, and then Ricky's. I was originally going to have each character have their own chapter, but that would simply drag everything out, and I wasn't comfortable about making all of you wait for a chapter that was only going to be about 1000 words or so. So this is the new format. I added Ricky's point of view in the first chapter, so please go there first. This second chapter is to explain everything, and a kind of treat for all of you for being kind of difficult. I hope you like it!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There the detective was, letting in a young woman to his office, the ex-wife of Peter Miller, according to the DNA analysis.</p><p>“Mrs. Miller, thank you for allowing me to talk with you. I know that this must be difficult.” “Oh, not really. To be quite frank, I’m honestly relieved that he’s dead.”</p><p>Tinsley frowned at the woman, taking a quick check at his notes. This was quite new, and honestly kind of relieving. All the other families gushed about how good their son or daughter was, and only gave insults in exchange for answers to questions that put their precious child in a bad light. Hell, Miller’s own family didn’t even bother to show up to meet with the detective. They just wanted his body as soon as possible to bury. Still, this intrigued Tinsley. He pulled up a seat for her, and the pair sat down.</p><p>“Why do you say so?”</p><p>The former Mrs. Miller turned away in thought before replying. “To put it simply, he was not a good man.” Tinsley waited a bit, hoping for the woman to elaborate, but her mouth stayed shut.</p><p>He sighed, taking a look at his notes. He looked up. “I’m going to ask you some questions, and I want to be clear that you are not a suspect. We are simply trying to eliminate all possible factors. It would be much appreciated if you answered these questions as honestly as possible.”</p><p>She nodded her understanding, and the interview began.</p><p>“Where were you the night of the 21st of November, around 2 to 3 am?” The murder was only this morning, but it was important to be formal.</p><p>“I was staying with my sister and her family.” “Will your sister be able to back up your claim?” “Yes.”</p><p>He pressed on. “What was the reason for you divorcing your husband?”</p><p>She raised her head in confidence, but her voice wavered. “He had been mistreating me. I had had enough of it.”</p><p>Tinsley glanced up at the woman in front of him and felt bad at how she slightly curled up. Like she expected someone to hit her for what she said.</p><p>“Would you be able to elaborate?” he asked carefully, gently.</p><p>She nodded absently, keeping her eyes downcast. Tinsley stayed silent as Mrs. Miller talked about her life with the man. He felt sorry for the woman, but a part of him couldn’t help but feel glad that the man that had caused her this much harm was gone. He handed her a glass of water after her story.</p><p>“Thank you for telling me this.” Mrs. Miller sipped the water and looked at the detective in thought as he continued his questions.</p><p>“Was there anyone that felt resentment at Mr. Miller? Anyone that might have wanted to cause actual harm towards him?”</p><p>“Where do I start? Even when he wasn’t drinking, he had a bad attitude. He could never hide his true emotions towards someone, no matter who it was. Could never hold down a job, either.” Tinsley nodded, hand going to rub his chin.</p><p>“Was there anyone that he seemed to talk most of, or anyone noticeable that he made angry?”</p><p>Mrs. Miller looked down in thought, hand clutching the glass of water. “Like I said, he could never hold down a job, troubles with authority. I could give you a list of old bosses to look at, but I don’t know much else.”</p><p>Tinsley grabbed a piece of paper and a pen. “That’s perfect. Here.”</p><p>The detective watched as Mrs. Miller wrote down a list of names, his head swimming with ideas. He would have to take another look at the other victims, but if he was right…</p><p>“Here you go.” Mrs. Miller interrupted Tinsley’s thought process and handed him the paper. He looked down the list of names as Mrs. Miller gathered herself and stood. Tinsley stopped at one of the names.</p><p>“He worked for the Goldsworth’s?” The woman stopped at the door, long blond hair swinging back and forth. She nodded.</p><p>“Yes, he worked for a restaurant for a time that catered for the Goldsworth's. Their parties were probably his more successful jobs.”</p><p>With that, she turned around and left his office, closing the door behind her.</p><p>Tinsley looked at the papers scattered around his desk, deep in thought. If he was right, and the other victims were abusers as well, then that could explain a lot of factors. Why the families were so protective and secretive of their dead. Why no one could seem to say a bad word against them. It would also explain the hesitancy in their children and significant others. Even in death did they protect them. He would have to look into all of them in the future.</p><p>His thoughts were once again interrupted by a knock at his door.</p><p>“Come in.”</p><p>A new officer came in, poking his head through the door.</p><p>“Hey, evidence just wanted me to drop this in, and to tell you that the coroner is ready,” he told C.C, holding out a bag marked EVIDENCE, his badge naming him Officer Andrew Ilnyckyj.</p><p>“Thanks, I’ll be right down,” said Tinsley, getting up and taking the bag from the officer.</p><p>The letter inside of it stood mockingly, as if it knew how much Tinsley dreaded opening it.</p><p>Might as well get it done with.</p><p>Tinsley sat back down at his paper-ridden desk, grabbing a letter opener from a drawer. Alongside the letter was a note from forensics, detailing what they could grasp from the outside of the letter.</p><p>To summarize the note, nothing really stood out. It was just a normal envelope from a regular post office, as well as normal ink. They could do a handwriting analysis when Tinsley finished reading the note and wringing out all the information he could get from it.</p><p>As carefully as he could, he pried the wax off of the back of the envelope, and grabbed the letter from within it. The detective unfolded it and began to read the killer’s words to him.</p><p>
  <em>'Dear Detective Tinsley, </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I should have guessed that you would be a goody-two-shoes, and give my wonderful note away without reading it first. From now on, let’s keep this between the two of us, alright? Don’t want too many people getting hurt. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Now, I know that you are probably worrying about where I’m going to hit next, and I know that after talking to sweet Mrs. Miller, that you are finally using that big head of yours for something. Sweet woman, by the way. Glad to know that she’ll earn some insurance from Pete’s death. The only good thing he has done for her, as far as I’m aware. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Don’t try to inform anyone about all of this, especially if you value that chief of yours. Benjamin, am I right? I always wondered how you managed to get into the hounds’ academy, what with your inability to separate your emotions from a case. But then I realized that it was because of that cousin of yours! </em>
</p><p>
  <em>But I must applaud you for your work, nonetheless. You have managed to stay on my tail for quite a while, detective, but this game of cat and mouse is far from over. You may think that you are closing in on me, but that is far from the truth. I know what keeps you up at night, and I am not afraid to use that against you and everyone you love. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I’m sorry that I can’t write more, but watch out for the next body, detective. I might leave you another present there. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>With love, </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Your friend'</em>
</p><p>Tinsley was appalled at the audacity of this man. He could deal with threats towards himself, his work, and his reputation, but to bring family into this? And to question all the work he has ever done?</p><p>He was furious, but he tried to calm himself down, letting himself breath in and out for a minute or two. He needed to keep himself together if was to catch this killer, and he couldn’t let one letter ruin the mask that he had so meticulously created. The mask of a cool, collected, detective, that knew what he was doing. He had been building that mask ever since the second World War ended, and he wasn’t going to let it break because someone wanted to get on his nerves. No, he wouldn’t let it. He couldn’t show the letter to evidence again, it would only cause more trouble.</p><p>He would also have to discuss the abusive victim's angle with another fellow detective, Holly Horsely, when she came in.</p><p>Look through the list of bosses from Peter Miller, and question them. Figure out what the killer’s message meant. Find a way to keep the papers’ off their backs. Visit the coroner. The list just went on and on. He sighed.</p><p>It was going to be another long day for CC Tinsley.</p><p>---------------------------------------------</p><p>
  <span>Ricky was awoken out of a trance by a sound like thunder rumbling. He had just been working on paperwork, for quite too long, he would admit, before being interrupted. He could only guess that it was the door in the main hall, and someone was knocking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He assumed that the butler grabbed the door, because the knocking ceased, and he went back to his work. However, to his dismay, the knocking started up again, and his annoyance was starting to grow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Someone knocked on the door to his own office, and he sighed through his nose, annoyed. He got up from his desk, and crossed the room to his door. He opened it up to find the butler, who was known as the Mayor, on the other side of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mayor, who on earth is at the door?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry sir, but he said that you would know who he was. He also insisted on the continuous racket.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ricky grimaced, knowing exactly who was at the door. He took a quick look back at his work, debating whether or not to actually bother meeting with the man downstairs. The knocking continued all the while. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rick stared at the ceiling, wondering what had gotten him to this point of life, before moving past the Mayor towards the main hall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Mayor was an interesting man. He was a sort of advisor for his mother, and had been with the family ever since Ricky had been a teenager. He was the silent type, opting to stay quiet during arguments. Which made him all the more dangerous. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Mayor’s name came from a story that had been passed down from the Goldsworths’. Apparently, when the family was starting to gain traction, Ricky’s namesake, Ricardo, took the past Mayor’s house, and declared himself Mayor. He then made the Mayor his servant and butler. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>From then on, the name just kind of stuck. Ricky was sure the man had a real name, but he had been a child when he started working for the family, and had forgotten it. He was too embarrassed to ask him for his name again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The knocking continued its assault on the door all the while, until Ricky finally grabbed the handle and swung the door open. He didn’t flinch when the person’s fist almost connected with his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you want, Night Night?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man, nefarious Night Night Bergara, smiled cheekily at the annoyed man in front him. He lowered his fist, and stuffed his hands into his rumpled suit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, can’t I say hello to my favorite little brother?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“First of all, I’m your half-brother. Second of all, no, you can’t. Third of all, get inside. People will wonder why you’re here,” opening the door a little bit wider. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Night Night walked inside, and Ricky closed the door behind him, leading him away from the open windows in the front. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, whatcha doin’ here, anyway?” Night Night said, picking up a piece of paper from the pile on the desk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Paperwork,” replied Ricky, yanking the paper out of his hand and placing it back on the desk. “What are you even doing here? I have work to do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We both know you basically work for mom, so don’t try that on me. Get over that ‘I work for the mayor’ nonsense. And besides, I have a job for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ricky raised an eyebrow, and after a moment, gestured to the chair in front of him. Night sat, and leaned back, letting a leg cross over on top of the other one. Ricky wove his fingers together, and let his chin fall on top of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What </span>
  <em>
    <span>kind</span>
  </em>
  <span> of job is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry, </span>
  <em>
    <span>mano</span>
  </em>
  <span>, it’s nothing too big. And I even looked into the guy for you, so you’re welcome.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ricky gave him a flat look before leaning back as well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are they like? And what did they ever do to bring the notorious Night Night Bergara into their bad graces?” asked Ricky, giving him a smirk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Night rolled his eyes. “I should just ask Fran to do it; she doesn’t ask so many questions.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can’t. She’s out of town, on a job that </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>gave her. So spill. What’s the guy like?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Night took out a cigarette and lit it, only for it to be knocked out of his hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know we don’t smoke in here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah. Anyway, he’s a mean one. Used to be an informant, before double-crossing us. I just need you to take care of him quickly. And he’s even up to your standards. A real bastard, the guy is. Girlfriend came to us personally with the info, and I saw the bruises on her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ricky’s eyes flashed with anger before calming himself. He sat up, and leaned towards Night, black eyes matching black eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How much, and how would you like it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Night Night leaned towards him as well, a smirk pulling at the scars around his mouth and nose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The brothers looked so alike, that you could convince yourself that they were twins. Black eyes, black hair, dark brown skin. But, if you looked closely enough, you could notice the differences between the two. Like the scars littering Night’s face, or Ricky’s slick hair compared to Night’s scruffy look. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“3,000. Need it clean and quick. None of your usual jazz.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ricky whistled softly, leaning back again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That bad, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Need it as soon as you can, get it? Can’t let him think that he got off the hook.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ricky smiled slyly, and cocked his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not that I’m not happy to get a bit of cash, but what happened to your partner? Legs, was it? A weird name, if you ask me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Night nodded his head. “A weird name for a weird guy. He’s off working on a court case. One of my guys was stupid enough to leave something that was eventually traced back to him. Legs’ been trying to cover his ass.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ricky nodded, absently twirling around a pencil. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And the Brothers Grimm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t know a thing, and I’d like to keep it that way. I don’t need Ryan getting into this kind of business,” Night said, glaring at Ricky. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ricky put his hands up in a kind of surrendering motion, getting up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Want to stay? Mom would be happy to see you. I could get you a drink too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Night stood up as well. “While I would love to, I gotta go help Legs. He’s been waiting for me, but I had to stop by first.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He headed towards the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll get your money when you finish the job. Just drop by, and I’ll hand it over. When you’re ready, just meet me at my place, and I’ll tell you </span>
  <em>
    <span>all</span>
  </em>
  <span> about the guy.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll see you then. Go out through the back door. I don’t need people seeing you,” Ricky said, following Night out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aww, you really do love me, huh?” Night responded, heading down the stairs. “But, it’s fine. No one even comes up here to your little solitude palace.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Night reached for the door and threw it open, but almost immediately slamming it shut and putting his back to the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? What is it?” Ricky asked, watching Night flounder about. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s a damn cop out there. Imma head out the back. That’s your problem now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ricky watched Night leave down the hall with narrowed eyes, before going back to his office to prepare himself. He had a feeling he knew who was coming, and he wanted to get ready. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He suddenly felt giddy. Playing around with the police always gave him a sort of euphoria. He was doing more than the police, and helping people, all the while doing what he needed to do. Ridding the world of the filth that broke people’s souls. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He only hoped that the detective wouldn’t look too into his behavior. He would hate to kill him off so soon.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Again, I am very sorry about all of this. Critiques, comments, and tips and tricks are appreciated! See you next week.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey!! I'm back for a third chapter! This chapter, Tinsley and Ricky actually meet! Hope you guys like it!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>CC Tinsley walked up to the manor steps, marvelling at the huge house in front of him. He knew that the mayor and her family lived here, but for a 2 person family, it seemed a bit excessive. </p><p>He approached the door, and knocked lightly. It was the middle of the day, and he wasn’t sure if anyone was home. He hoped no one was. </p><p>The Goldsworth’s were an intimidating family, even when they weren’t in control of the city. There were always rumors floating by, like them being involved with the mob or mafia, but he tried to not pay mind to them. It would only make his thinking biased, and as a detective, he didn’t need that. </p><p>The door opened, and Tinsley had to look down to meet the eyes of the person behind it. Being 6’4” would warrant that kind of action, except if it wasn’t for the fact that the person was a man, and definitely not the person he was looking for.</p><p>Tinsley stammered. “I’m looking for Mayor Goldsworth?”</p><p>The man had to tilt his head to look Tinsley in the eyes, which he seemed unhappy about. “She’s not in, but I’m her son. Do you need anything, mister..?” </p><p>“Detective Tinsley,” CC said, flashing his badge, regaining his cool. “I just needed to ask your mother a few questions about one of her previous employees.”</p><p>“Well, Detective, I could answer some of your questions. My mother and I work close together. When you say employees, do you mean from one of the offices, or from the charity balls?” The man angled the door a bit wider, a silent invitation to come inside. </p><p>Tinsley stepped in, ducking to avoid hitting his head against the door frame. The man closed the door behind him. </p><p>“I mean from one of your fundraisers. I’m not sure if you would know of him, but does the name ‘Peter Miller’ mean anything to you?”</p><p>The man wrinkled his nose in distaste. “I know him. Caused quite a ruckus at our last event. But first, come with me. We should sit down and have a chat.”</p><p>“Oh, that’s quite alright. I only have a few questions.” Tinsley did not want to be in the house any longer than he had to be. Alarms were ringing in his head. The man unsettled him, though he couldn’t pinpoint why. </p><p>“Nonsense. Follow me,” said the man, turning and walking deeper into the house. Tinsley frowned slightly, but had no choice but to follow him, though he did so reluctantly. </p><p>The pair walked through the maze that was called a house, turning hallway to hallway. While Tinsley wished he knew where they were going, he couldn’t help but notice the artwork on the walls, showing the city’s history. They must have cost a fortune. Surely a mayor’s salary couldn’t cover that much, even with the family’s assumed wealth?</p><p>His thoughts left him as the man opened up a door, and let Tinsley follow him to a few sitting chairs near a fireplace. The room was big, covered almost head-to-toe with bookshelves. While Tinsley had to admire the fact that the man was one of culture, all he could think was ‘fire hazard’.</p><p>“Please sit, and I hope that you don’t mind. You look like a person that would appreciate literature.”</p><p>The mayor’s son took a seat, and crossed a leg over the other, gesturing to the seat across from him. Tinsley sat down, having no other choice available. </p><p>“I’m sorry, I haven’t introduced myself. My name is Ricardo, but you can call me Ricky, detective. Now, you have some questions?”</p><p>Tinsley smiled grimly, before taking out his notebook and pen. Straight to the point. </p><p>“Yes, I do. You said that you knew Peter Miller?”</p><p>Ricardo, sorry, <em> Ricky </em> , wrinkled his nose again. “ <em> Knew </em> isn’t really the word I would use. He worked for one of the restaurants that we hired. The chef warned me himself about his, well, demeanor. And he was right.”</p><p>Tinsley nodded in agreement. He had saved the Goldsworth family for last, preferring to hit the other employers on the list first. All the others remarked on Peter’s ill will and refusal to comply with rules or orders. They often complained about his interactions with his bosses, managers, or even the customers. All in all, he seemed like a guy that couldn't get along with anyone except for himself. A narcissist, if you will. </p><p>“Was there anyone he, for lack of better word, pissed off the most?”</p><p>“Honestly, I say he could have pissed off anyone. I couldn't help but notice that he was especially forward with the women,” Ricky said, distaste noticeable in his voice. </p><p>“There was one man, though, that seemed to hate him the most. Do you know Mr. Cole?”</p><p>“The city clerk?”</p><p>“Yes, him. Your Mr. Miller ‘accidently’ spilled wine on his suit during the meal. Honestly, the look on his face was almost <em> murderous </em>.” </p><p>Tinsley quirked his eyebrow. He couldn’t remember when he had announced that Peter Miller was dead. And he didn’t like how Ricky said that word. Call it a feeling, but he might as well give him the benefit of the doubt.</p><p>“You read his death in the papers?”</p><p>Ricky, who had lowered his head in thought, looked up. </p><p>“I did. Tragic, really, but I can’t blame whoever did it. Just from that one interaction alone was enough for him to get on my bad side.”</p><p>CC gave Ricky a long look. “You have a bad side, Mr. Goldsworth?”</p><p>Ricky smiled. “I suppose everyone has a bad side. You yourself might have one, detective. It just depends on who you show it to.”</p><p>Tinsley nodded, closed his notebook, and placed it into his coat pocket. </p><p>“Well, thank you. I don’t have any more questions for you, so I will leave you be.” He stood, and walked towards the door. He was uneasy, and he needed to get out of here. To hell with the rest of his questions.</p><p>Ricky stood as well. “Please, let me show you to the door.”</p><p>He walked over to him, and took him by the shoulder. Well, as much as he could, due to the height difference. Tinsley took a moment to shoot a glance at the hand on his shoulder, before looking back when hearing Ricky’s voice. </p><p>“You know, you should probably take a bit of control when it comes to the papers. You never know what kind of power words have over people.”</p><p>He took his hand off of Tinsley’s shoulder, and opened the main door to him. </p><p>“Believe me, I know, Mr. Goldsworth.”</p><p>He took a step onto the porch, before turning around. </p><p>“If I have any additional questions, would you be available to call?”</p><p>“Hoping to see me again?” Ricky said, a smirk gracing his face. CC was taken aback, before turning his head, flustered. </p><p>The man behind the door chuckled. “I’m just playing with you, detective. And yes, I will be available to call. Though it might be the butler who picks up.”</p><p>Tinsley nodded to him, and set towards his car. </p><p>There was definitely something interesting about the Goldsworth family. But, it wasn’t his place to look into it. He had a job to do, and he had to stick to it.</p><p>Besides, who on earth would accuse, arguably, the most powerful family in Chicago?</p><p>---------------------------------------------------</p><p>Ricky, screaming internally, face calm, closed the door. Did he just flirt with the lead detective on his case?! And invite him into his own house?! That was literally in the book of doing things you aren’t supposed to do!</p><p>In a state of mild shock, he headed towards the room he and the detective had just sat in. He was relieved over the fact that his mother was at City Hall, and everyone else was out or simply in another town. If someone had seen that, Ricky didn’t think he could live with the embarrassment or the scolding. </p><p>At least his ruse worked. He took out the detective’s notebook, pick pocketed when he had placed his hand on the man’s shoulder, although it was an awkward position. The papers really didn’t do the man justice when it came to his appearance. </p><p>If anyone asked about why he had taken, his automatic response would be that he wanted to make sure that no one was catching up to him. In actuality, he just wanted a reason to see the detective again. </p><p>It wasn’t just the fact that the detective was handsome; he was. He had brown, unruly hair, and was quite tall. A nice style of fashion, if you called a trenchcoat and a white button-up <em> fashion </em>. Ricky could bet that he had a holster for his gun under that giant coat somewhere. Some would find that attractive. Ricky certainly did, but, that wasn't it.</p><p>No, the detective intrigued him. </p><p>All the others that Ricky had seen, or spied on, more like, were impatient. Brash. Always jumping to conclusions, or detaining those who didn’t deserve the consequences afterwards. No, Tinsley was careful, and watched what he said. He never spoke to the press, which meant he wasn’t looking for fame. </p><p>Looking at his track record, he had a decent number of cases under his belt. He was experienced, which meant that he would think things through, which would make things difficult for Ricky. In the records he could find, Tinsley looked into everything he could get his hands on, which meant if he got a hint that Ricky was doing anything the tiniest bit suspicious, he would go chasing after it. </p><p>Tinsley seemed to rarely care about himself. In the pictures Ricky could find, and the times he spied on him, he looked as if he was about to pass out any minute. But, he put himself in harm's way when it came to other people. In front of bullets, attackers, opting to take the blow, and fight back when the victims couldn’t. Apparently, he had gotten a lot of talking-tos from a past chief about that, but Ricky had to admire him for it.</p><p>But, if Ricky was being honest, he seemed scared of him. He fidgeted when he followed Ricky around the house, feeling uncomfortable in unfamiliar places. He had only asked a few questions, but none that involved Ricky directly. He was definitely in a rush to leave. Flipping through the small notebook, he figured he was safe. He set it on the small coffee table next to the armchair, and stared off into the distance.</p><p>He would have to approach the detective first about his ‘missing’ notebook. There were only so many places he could have ‘dropped’ it, and it would paint him in a better light. </p><p>He didn’t outright lead the detective on a wild goose chase by mentioning Mr. Cole. He was a wealthy man, and had connections to the mob, who, according to rumors, were not very happy with him. Even when the detective eventually found out that he wasn’t the man he was looking for, he would still be getting a player off the streets, and the mob wouldn’t give either of them any trouble. </p><p>Ricky had to rely on rumors and the papers. He needed to keep up an image, and to get into the minds of people, it meant paying attention to what was being written. </p><p>Sure, he didn’t <em> like </em> it, but it was necessary. Not only for his reputation, but for his mother and her line of work. </p><p>All rumors were made off of some basis of truth. You had to just discern what were the lies and what was the truth, which wasn’t too hard. People loved to exaggerate events or things, so it was simple to find the most extravagant thing, and just tone it down to a believable level. </p><p>He needed to drop off papers to his mother at the city hall, and from there he could return the notebook to the detective. There was no doubt that he had noticed that it was gone by now. With the murder from this morning, the press would no doubt be looking for a statement from the mayor or her son, leading figures of the city. </p><p>Well, better the two of them than the other idiots in this town, like the chief. ‘It will be all resolved shortly.’ Sure. That’s what you said 3 years ago. </p><p>Ricky could feel his thoughts straying back to the detective and the case at hand. The notebook only had so much information handy, which was more about the victims than any suspects. If he had access to other documents, then he could gain a better understanding of what was going on inside the man’s mind. </p><p>He could always ask Night Night or Legs to check out his apartment, but they had never been one for subtlety, preferring to take a rougher edge to their jobs. He couldn’t exactly go up to one of their lackeys and ask them something like this, and Fran was out of town. </p><p>Ricky sighed, suddenly tired, slouching down in the chair. The morning’s adrenaline from the kill and officially meeting the detective had worn off, leaving him restless, and wanting more. </p><p>Adrenaline was like a drug you couldn’t get enough of. Some couldn’t bear the taste of it, but those who could did anything they could to get more of it. Thrill-seekers, for example, looked for new and daring adventures to get their next hit. Even those in ‘official’ jobs, like the police or mob, were looking for ways to become involved in something exciting. </p><p>He supposed that breaking into the detective’s apartment would satisfy his desire. But that was for another time. </p><p>CC Tinsley was an interesting character to say the least. The papers never included his full name, opting to go with a nickname. He introduced himself like that as well. Ricky could only guess that he wasn’t particularly fond of the full name, but couldn’t bear to part with it. </p><p>His past was interesting too. A decorated veteran from the Navy with a Navy Cross, an Asiatic-Pacific Campaign Medal, and a World War II Victory Medal. He must have done something honorable in the seas to win such awards. He was a hero in possibly the best, or worst, way, depending on how you took it.</p><p>The one thing that confused him was what happened afterward. Tinsley could have gone into a government job, maybe continuing working with the Navy, but he came to Chicago. He became a detective quite easily too. </p><p>While Ricky won’t judge his work (the numerous cases under his belt were certainly proof enough), soldiers simply didn’t adjust that easily. There was shell-shock, and the adjustment from a literal war zone to an almost normal life. </p><p>It made him think that Tinsley had something to hide, and while Ricky won’t exploit a man’s emotional or psychological weakness in any circumstance, he also didn’t like things being hidden from him. If it was to help him understand the detective better, what was with just a bit of snooping?</p><p>He did hope that his detective was doing okay. Sure, he was messing with him most of the time, but, really, what did you expect him to do? <em> Not </em> play around with him? </p><p>All the people he killed deserved what got to them, and he didn’t feel the slightest bit guilty. He also didn’t feel guilty when the previous men working on his case got taken off because they had become obsessed. He didn’t know why he started caring about Detective Tinsley so much. </p><p>Maybe it was because the man looked so innocent. He had a boyish face that had ‘<em> adorably awkward’ </em>as its default expression. He was almost, dare he say, cute.</p><p>He whipped his head, looking at his watch, before jumping up. He was getting lost in his head too much nowadays. He needed to get up, and move. He had a list of things to do, and it was 3 in the afternoon. </p><p>Time to actually get things done.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>For Tinsley's medals, I actually did do some research, and the fact that a soldier might have these kinds of medals would be kind of appropriate for the time. If you think it is wrong, please say something! Again, I would really appreciate any tips or tricks you might want to lend me, since this is my first work!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Another week, another chapter! I'm currently supposed to be doing homework, but I thought that I would post this first. In this chapter, we meet someone new!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tinsley ran around his office, tie undone, opening cabinets and drawers, looking for his notebook. His trenchcoat was strewn over his chair, the pockets thoroughly searched. He was sure that he put it into his pocket after visiting the Goldsworth home, but it must have fallen out, <em> somewhere</em>.</p><p>Sure, it was a notebook full of notes, but important notes! It was something that Tinsley always had on him, on hand, at every crime scene. Now, without it, he felt uncomfortable. </p><p>He hoped that he hadn’t left it at the Goldworths, because he definitely did not want to go back. The house itself was strange, but the son, Ricky, was just unsettling. </p><p>At that moment, Holly Horsely, his partner and famous crime writer, burst through the door, waving a newspaper around. </p><p>“It’s official. This is the worst case I’ve ever worked on, and that’s including the one with the dog as a suspect.”</p><p>Holly threw the newspaper on Tinsley’s cluttered desk, while Tinsley himself hurriedly got up from where he had been looking in a bottom drawer, and smoothed out his crumpled shirt. </p><p>He picked up the paper as Holly paced back and forth in front of his desk, her red hair swinging back and forth. The headline blared “THE ANGELMAKER STRIKES AGAIN”, with a whole article about the murder that had only happened this morning. </p><p>Tinsley knew about the murder hitting the papers. The reporters in front of the house at 4 am were clear enough. But the article that Holly was referring to wasn’t the front page. It was an article questioning the reliability of the police. </p><p>Tinsley looked up as Holly plopped herself down in the chair in front of him, eyebrow raised. </p><p>“You know, Holly, this is something we’ve dealt before.”</p><p>“I know, I know. Just ignore it. I would, honestly, I would, if they weren’t outside, questioning me and harassing me on my way to work.” </p><p>Tinsley frowned at that. Writing about the police and cases in the paper was one thing, but to actually harass them? That was crossing a line. </p><p>It was especially risky for Holly, since she had a girlfriend and was a female detective. Unfortunately, society would never treat her right, no matter how much she did for the city. </p><p>Maybe Ricky was right to watch the press closer. Tinsley couldn’t have people harassing Holly; it might force her to cut herself from the case. He looked at the author of the article. Brent Bennett. He filed that information for later.</p><p>Holly sighed, before looking up. </p><p>“Sorry I barged in here like that. You wanted to talk to me about something?”</p><p>He immediately perked up. “Yeah, I did. I’m looking at a new angle for the case, and I wanted to run it by you before going into it further.”</p><p>“Go nuts, CC,” Holly said, crossing one leg over the other, all attention directed towards her partner. </p><p>Tinsley stood, and moved towards the cork board by the side of the room. It was littered with papers and cut-out news articles. Red string (yes, like in the movies) connected pieces together, like a puzzle waiting to be solved. Unfortunately, this puzzle was missing a few pieces, but Tinsley was determined to figure it out. </p><p>He had also hidden away the letter from the killer in the bottom drawer of his desk. He had told evidence that it was written with a type-writer, so there was no point in doing a handwriting analysis. Fortunately, or unfortunately, they believed him. He couldn’t let himself get carried away with the killer’s threats, though. He needed to keep his mind focused, and if that meant lying to a few people, so be it. It was for the greater good.</p><p>From there, he delved into his idea about the victims actually being abusers. He recounted his interaction with Mrs. Miller, as well as conservations he had with Mr. Miller’s previous employers. </p><p>Holly couldn’t help but to admire how Tinsley got when he went on his rants. Usually, people would interrupt him, looking just for the answers to their questions. But when he got talking, boy did he talk. He was a shy guy, sure, but he loved to rant about his cases or ideas. If it were up to Holly, she would let him talk forever. Seeing the dejected look in his eyes when his coworkers interrupted him always made her feel bad, because she was guilty of the same thing. </p><p>“So what do you think?” Tinsley said finally, sitting back in his chair.</p><p>Holly nodded. “I think you’re right.” While she had to admit that she hadn’t been paying as much attention as she should have, you couldn’t blame her. She was tired from reporters and the papers constantly harassing her work and life, questioning what she had ever done. While it happened to every detective, it hit her hardest. Besides that, she had to keep moving forward. </p><p>“What would you like me to do?”</p><p>Tinsley thumbed through a few documents on his desk, before finally handing a few to her. She took a brief look at it. </p><p>“Like I said, a few families were very defensive about anything that seemed to disgrace their relatives. While I have to assume it’s not to disgrace their dead, I have a feeling a few of them actually knew about what was going on with past or present spouses. I think you could find more information from them than I could.” </p><p>Holly looked up. “What makes you say that?”</p><p>“I just have a feeling that a second time questioning them would help. You could pull the ‘I’m sorry about my partner’ card, and they would be none the wiser. You’re also more experienced with questioning others than I am.”</p><p>Holly got up, and nodded. “I’ll get right on that.”</p><p>She headed towards the door, before stopping. “Also, don’t forget to meet with the coroner. You missed your last appointment, C.”</p><p>CC slapped his head against his forehead in frustration as Holly chuckled. </p><p>“You <em> really </em>need to lay off the coffee. Get some actual sleep.”</p><p>“You know that’s impossible for me, Horsely,” said Tinsley, looking back at the newspaper as the door closed behind the detective. </p><p>CC supposed that it wouldn’t hurt to see the public’s view on this case. He could check what they did know, and see if any information had been leaked. You could never know who the mob was paying off. </p><p>This entire thought process was thrown out the window when CC turned the page to find conspiracy theories on the case. He couldn’t deal with that now. He checked the author of the story as well, just to keep a list of who to look out for. Ryan Bergara and Shane Madej. </p><p>Huh, Polish. </p><p>Tinsley got up from his chair, stretching his back as he did so. He had been hunched over his desk for too long, and he supposed that a visit to the coroner would be useful. He doubted that anything new could be gleaned from the body, but it never hurt to check. </p><p>CC knew that his notebook was probably long gone. If it wasn’t in his car or coat, he was almost positive that someone either took it, somehow, or he had simply dropped it. For one of Chicago’s best detectives, he definitely forgets things easily. </p><p>Don’t worry, not important things! But probably more concerning things, like eating. Or sleeping.</p><p>He grabbed his coat and fixed his tie before walking out the door to his office. As usual, the police station was bustling with officers, suspects, witnesses, and other detectives. An organized chaos, if you will. </p><p>As Tinsley walked towards the front doors, he couldn’t help but overhear a conversation made by the previously mentioned Officer Andrew, who now had a companion with him. Officer Steven Lim, his badge read. </p><p>“Yeah, I was supposed to meet up with this guy, a reporter, I think. He said he had information on the case, but he never came to the station.”</p><p>“What was the guy’s name, anyway? Didn’t you say that he was causing some problems around?”</p><p>“Yeah, his name’s Brent, or something. Works for the Chicago Tribune. I don’t know, I just feel like something bad happened.”</p><p>“That <em> is </em> weird, I’ll give you that, but not weirder than the theories on that one column in the papers. Those guys are absolutely insane, I say.”</p><p>----------------------------------------------------------------</p><p>Ricky had just finished up with the vultures of the press before spotting his detective. He was just walking down the street before he was recognized, papers in his arms, and then ambushed by the crowd.</p><p>Talking with the reporters was exactly the same as dealing with the rich people of Chicago during their events, despite the difference in classes. </p><p>The same fake smile, the same false sympathy for the victims. If they knew the truth, they wouldn’t feel so bad for them. Ricky wished he could just show his true feelings towards everything, but he had to keep everything up, just in front of them. </p><p>He could let it all out when he dealt with Night’s guy, whoever he was.</p><p>But, it was time to focus on the present. Tinsley had just left the police station, and was heading towards what seemed as though the hospital, possibly to see the coroner. Ricky smiled, and, with a lie immediately on his tongue, moved faster to catch up with him. </p><p>“Detective!” Ricky shouted, gaining Tinsley’s attention. </p><p>He stopped and turned, waiting for the shorter man to catch up. </p><p>“Mr. Goldsworth. I didn’t know that we would meet again so soon.”</p><p>“Apologies for the lack of notice, truly,” Ricky said with a smirk. “You left your notebook at my place. I was just running some errands, and thought that you would need it.”</p><p>Tinsley’s face brightened up as he took his notebook from Ricky’s extended hand, and pocketed it. Stay calm, stay calm, <em> stay calm heart, damn it</em>. <em> Stop looking at his face</em>.</p><p>“Thank you, I was looking for this,” he said with false nonchalance, but Ricky could see that he was relieved to have it back. </p><p>“Errands, you say?” Tinsley said, looking up. </p><p>“Yeah, I just needed to drop off some work for my mother. You?” He hoped that Tinsley didn’t catch on to why he was asking. He didn’t need anyone catching on, especially the lead detective on his case.</p><p>“I was just about to… go on a walk,” Tinsley looked confused for a minute, before catching himself. Probably wasn’t safe to be sharing too much information with the general public, especially with reporters so near. </p><p>“Mind if I go with you? We could go the same way.”</p><p>Three. Tinsley looked hesitant, obviously not wanting to be rude, but definitely not wanting to be any closer to Ricky. </p><p>Two. Ricky cocked his head, waiting for the right moment.</p><p>One.</p><p>Bingo.</p><p>“Detective Tinsley! Detective Tinsley! What do you have to say about the murder this morning?”</p><p>Reporters had spotted the detective, exactly what Ricky was hoping for. Put him in a situation that will force to make a split second decision. Something that he isn’t comfortable with nor used to.</p><p>He swears that he usually isn’t that mean. </p><p>Immediately, Tinsley responded with “Sure,” and followed Ricky away from the reporters. Policemen from inside the building, noticing the situation, came out to stop the vultures from getting too close. </p><p>The pair walked together in silence, hearing the roar of the crowd behind them grow quieter and quieter. Ricky shuffled through the papers in his arms, just to give him something to do. He could tell that the detective was thinking about something. About what, who would know. </p><p>The buildings around them became taller and newer. Chicago was growing all the time, especially after the second World War. The economy was growing, and so were the cities inside of the country. And as cities grew, so did the filth inside of it.</p><p>“If you don’t mind me asking, what kind of work do you do for your mother?” Ricky’s thoughts were stopped by Tinsley’s words. </p><p>He smiled, having told this lie often. The words flowed easily. </p><p>“I work with finances and mainly paperwork, but I also do some work on the side for the family business.”</p><p>Ah yes, the family business. An easy enough excuse, as long as you didn’t go into specifics. Used often, but never gets old. </p><p>He usually didn’t mention the ‘family business’ to normal people, but Tinsley was continuing to be an exception to the assassin in many ways. </p><p>“Forgive me for noticing, but you seemed uncomfortable when you came over. You left quite quickly, too. Did something unsettle you?”</p><p>The detective seemed flustered, probably embarrassed that Ricky had caught on to that, but didn’t say anything at first. The cold wind flushed his cheeks and ears red. November and autumn was nice and all, but in Chicago of all places? It was practically winter. </p><p>“This case is becoming more difficult the longer I work it. I guess it must have affected my mood. Did I offend you?”</p><p>“Oh, not at all. You just seemed wound up, let’s say.:</p><p>“Right. Sorry, anyway.”</p><p>Ricky nodded, seemingly accepting the apology. He was actually working on taking apart the detective, piece by piece. </p><p>It was plainly obvious that he didn’t want to be near Ricky, but that could have been for a multitude of reasons. The press was one, but it might have been that he just didn’t want to be seen around someone as controversial of a family as the Goldsworths. It might ruin in reputation, but Ricky had reasoned earlier that he didn’t care about that. Maybe there was more to it?</p><p>Or was he just overthinking again? </p><p>Chicago passed by them as they walked in silence. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, but it seemed full of tension. One was waiting for the other to make a move, but neither could open their mouth to even say a thing.</p><p>Sparingly few people were on the street this afternoon, despite the clear weather. Men and women hurried by, trying to go about their day as quickly as possible. Everyone was on edge because of the murder, and Ricky could see small groups of people, clustered around papers and articles, milking in the words being sung to them.</p><p>Ricky could see the town hall approaching, and his mind started racing. He wanted to leave a lasting impression on the detective, and he needed to make it perfect. </p><p>The pair stopped in front of the hall’s entrance, and CC seemed to study Ricky, just for a second. In almost an instance, he looked up towards the building in front of them, as if lost in thought, before looking back as Ricky began to speak.</p><p>“Well, detective, thank you for the walk.”</p><p>He began to ascend the steps, before stopping to turn his head to look at the detective. </p><p>“I wish we could have gotten to know each other more. Join me sometime?”</p><p>Tinsley opened his mouth, before turning away in thought, eyebrows furrowed. He looked at Ricky again.</p><p>“Perhaps. If I’m not busy. Goodbye, Mr. Goldsworth.”</p><p>Ricky turned his head to watch his detective walk down the street and turn the corner, to the hospital, as Ricky had suspected. He continued up the steps, and pushed open the door to the lobby. </p><p>Finding it vacant, Ricky silently moved to the secretary’s desk, put his papers to the side, and promptly beat his head against the counter to the desk.</p><p>He sighed in exasperation. Why did he do these things to himself?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Again, tips and advice are appreciated! See you next week!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Here is chapter 5! Again, we have sleep-deprived Tinsley and sneaky Ricky!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Our focus comes back onto Detective Tinsley, who was sitting in his office inside of the police station. He was writing away on a piece of paper, which appeared to be a report of sorts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tinsley sat back when he finished, throwing down his pen and stretching out his sore hand. As Ricky had suggested a few days ago, he looked into Mr. Cole, the city clerk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course, he didn’t spend </span>
  <em>
    <span>all</span>
  </em>
  <span> of his time looking into it. He just wanted to cover his bases, and if he was given information, who was Tinsley to turn it away?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Apparently, the clerk was getting tired of his boring job, and had turned to the mob to give them information. From what Tinsley could gather from Horsley’s and Banjo’s sources, they weren’t entirely pleased with him after a deal that had gone awry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He and a team had already arrested Mr. Cole, on “mob action criminal charges”, most significantly white collar crimes, as the lawyers put it. Basically what that meant was that Mr. Cole was being arrested because he was working for the mob, which was a no-no, and that he was using the mob to fund himself. White collar crimes were usually nonviolent, which fit Cole’s personality. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He definitely did not like confrontation, and when he was arrested, he came without a fight. But, he was smart enough to keep his mouth shut, and asked for a lawyer, unfortunately. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thankfully for Tinsley, that was not his field. He only hoped that his evidence would put him behind bars just for a while. Just to get </span>
  <em>
    <span>someone</span>
  </em>
  <span> away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The press and the people were constantly pressuring the police to bring in some that would, in their words, “actually do their job right.” Like it was that simple. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Figuring out cases like these didn’t come as quickly as the press portrayed it to be. There were long nights and early mornings. There was staying overnight at the police station to just find </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t easy being a detective. But, you never truly understand how hard a job is before going into it. All the press wants is a story that will captivate an audience long enough before a new one comes around. They were just doing their job, but did they have to make it so easy to hate them?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tinsley had gotten a court order to search his office and home, along with a few officers, and Tinsley was just about to head over there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had visited the coroner, a few days ago, without forgetting his appointment. Again, nothing much could be gleaned from the body. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As expected, the cause of death was blood less, not from any of the multiple stab wounds decorating the body. Besides Mr. Miller’s own, there was no hair, or skin, or anything that could deduce the DNA of the killer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What Tinsley could think of was that the killer was targeting abusers, but for what reason? Sure, there were a lot of reasons, but what started all of this? Did someone they knew get hurt because of someone they loved? Or was it just a prolonged situation, experiencing years of neglect and/or abuse before snapping? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whoever they were, they obviously did not like cops. Or him, for that matter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he stood up, getting ready to visit Mr. Cole and stretching, he heard a knock at the door. Stifling a yawn, he called out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s open!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Banjo came in, looking at the mess that was the corkboard and Tinsley’s desk, before looking up at Tinsley. He smiled ruefully, before coming in and closing the door behind him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve been busy,” he said, walking and looking up at his younger cousin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tinsley smiled back, tired. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yup. I was just about headed to the clerk’s office. Want to join?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Banjo looked at his feet before looking back at Tinsley. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um, Tinsley, about that…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hesitated, before continuing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, we all mean the best for you, I swear. Which... is why we think you should just leave the court order to the boys and I.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tinsley cocked his head, frowning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure? I can make it. I’m not even that tired.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Contrary to what he had just said, Tinsley tried to hold in a yawn. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Banjo took the report and court order that was on his desk, and held in one hand. The other was used to pass Tinsley’s coat to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right. Here, how about this. It’s seven pm, so why don’t you go in and get in early tonight? Go to sleep early, wake up early, how does that sound?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the detective looked hesitant, Banjo continued.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know how you operate, cuz, and I swear we’ll follow everything to a T. If you still think you want a once-over, you can sweep it again in the morning. His lawyer won’t be able to do nothin’.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tinsley looked at the papers on his desk, before sighing, and looking back at Banjo.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You sure?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure as anything. I was like you, you know. Go get some sleep. You’ll need it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Banjo patted a few times on the shoulder, before waiting for Tinsley to pack up the stuff he needed. The pair of men walked out of the office, who were soon followed by a few officers to join Banjo.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The group walked out of the station, and were soon split. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Banjo looked back at Tinsley.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get home safe. We don’t need you passing out on the wheel before you solve this thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He has a lot of faith in me</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Tinsley thought. He nodded at him, before turning away and heading back to his car, parked to the side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The streetlights were turned on as it got darker and colder, which Tinsley thought was kind of unfair. I mean, fall barely existed in Chicago! At least give him the chance to enjoy the leaves turning colors. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He approached his car, and sighed as he spotted the cop cars in the parking lot. Most of them had been smashed by a bat or car. Either it was some dumb teenagers looking for some inappropriate fun, or it was the mob looking for an easy way to spend the officers’ time and the department’s money. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tinsley was just glad that whoever had done this hadn’t touched the officers’ personal cars; just the ones used on patrol. At least they had some decency.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he drove off and away from the station, he couldn’t help but feel a bit dejected. Was it because he was missing out on something important? Was he forgetting something? He just couldn’t place the reason for why he was feeling the way he was, and it frustrated him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tried to forget about it as he got closer and closer to his apartment. He had already created a plan of what he was going to do when he got home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He would go to sleep, as Banjo suggested, and maybe get some real food in him. In the morning, he would look through what the officers would have confiscated, and find some evidence against him to sort out for the prosecutor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It seemed as though, from what he could piece together, that the killer had a pattern in his killings. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He only killed about once or twice a month, maybe even longer, which is very considerate, as well as expected. These types of killers, or the “justice” type, never went on sprees, and meticulously planned everything. It would make sense to keep a time gap to keep the police off their trail, but to still get the attention that the media could provide.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was good news for Tinsley, because it would mean that it was unlikely that he would called at a ridiculous hour for another murder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He parked his car, keeping a look on his surroundings. This was Chicago after all. People getting jumped was practically a common occurrence at this point.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The moon’s and street’s light mixed together, creating a kind of hazy glow on the area. Tinsley couldn’t see anything immediately, and he just hoped nobody was hiding in any kind of alleyway or side street of the sort. He was not in the mood, nor in the right mindset to deal with something like that. He clung onto his messenger bag tighter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The atmosphere of the situation made him jumpy, but the drowsiness of being awake for hours on end challenged it. All he could think about was getting home as soon as possible, because it would fix both problems. One stone, two birds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hurried past shops and buildings to make it to his apartment. Usually, apartments were made for people who were waiting to start a family or saving the money to buy a “real” home, but Tinsley was fine with what he had. He wasn’t looking to start anything, nor was he ready for a change so drastic. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tinsley’s feeling of the situation feeling wrong disappeared as he made it to his door, and locked it behind him. The world was always changing, especially with the aftermath of the Great Wars. He just hoped that he wouldn’t get caught up in all of it again. He was done fighting others’ battles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took off his coat, and untied his tie, leaving it to hang over a chair in the front room. It was a decent place, with two bedrooms and one bathroom. He had transformed the second bedroom into a kind of office for himself, just so he could try and separate work from “relaxation”, as Banjo had proposed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He dropped his bag onto the floor in front of the door to the office, deciding that it would be easier to pick up in the morning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he managed to make it to his bedroom, he slumped forward onto the bed in the middle of the space, clothes and all. His brain tried to reason that he should probably put on pajamas, but CC was too tired to rationalize through it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Coma time,” Tinsley muttered, chuckling tiredly. He could feel the arms of sleeping pulling him forward further and further. Eventually he succumbed, one of his last thoughts being that he hoped that he didn’t wake up screaming again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-------------------------------------------------------------------------</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ricky had been smoking a cigarette when he saw the detective’s car pull up. He had already figured out what to do hours ago, and was just biding his time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He would wait for the detective, slip into his apartment, nose through his stuff, just for a bit, before heading over to meet with Night and his guy. He would have looked earlier if it wasn’t for this one ass of a candidate hoping to run against his mother in the upcoming election.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had been trying to get chummy with Ricky, at work of all places, and Rick had an idea or two for exactly what. He had tried to be the city’s polite boy, but when all of his usual tactics didn’t work, he had to get security to handle him, on account of ‘bothering’ him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That had taken longer than it needed to be, and now it was around seven at night. While he needed to actually pinpoint which was Tinsley’s apartment, he could have just asked around. Now he was just taking another unnecessary risk, especially when the detective was so close to what he actually wanted. He’ll have to find some dirt on that candidate, for future reference.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He let the cigarette fall from his hands, and stomped it out with his heel, smearing it. Smirking, he watched as the unnerved detective looked left to right, clutching his bag. It was obvious that he knew something was wrong, but he couldn’t pinpoint what. Ricky could understand that feeling of being watched, but now he was the watcher. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tinsley walked past the very same alleyway Ricky had been standing in, obviously in a hurry. He had kept his head down, well, as much as he could, and his eyes forward. Ricky could feel his heartbeat quicken, just for a second, as the detective rushed through. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t somebody to underestimate, so the killer had to treat lightly and carefully. In and out, and don’t keep Night waiting. He was inpatient. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He slowly followed the detective, a few steps behind him. He entered the building, and caught the door just as it swung closed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ricky followed the man up the stairs, and watched from the door to the hallway as Tinsley opened his door, and let himself in. Of course, he locked the door behind him. Ricky gave it a minute or two, before following. He looked positively exhausted when he walked past, so hopefully he would sleep soundly tonight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took out his lockpicking kit, and slowly unlocked and opened the door. He hoped nothing would cause people to catch notice of anything. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A step into the apartment, and Ricky let the door swing shut, slowly and quietly. Taking a moment to listen for anything, he took a look around his surroundings. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The apartment was a small place, from the looks of it. You had the living room and kitchen, with a table and chairs for guests. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The moonlight shone through the windows, showing bookshelves lining the walls. Ricky walked over to the shelves, and thumbed through the novels. A look to his left showed a hallway leading to more rooms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He carefully walked over, thankful for Chicago’s late nights, leaving it dark enough for him to stay hidden, but light enough for him to walk around without bumping into anything. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were two doors to the left, one probably being an extra room, and another being his bedroom. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Someone like Tinsley should have a room for working at home, right?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Ricky thought to himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just as Ricky was about to open the first door, he noticed something around the floor. He looked down to see a messenger bag of sorts, leaning against the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ricky’s brain short circuited. While he was sure that it must not have been intentional, the door </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> open to the inside of the room, instead of out into the hallway, which was, again, normal for rooms like these. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If he opened the door, the bag would fall, and if the bag fell, then Tinsley would notice it laying on the floor. Then he would </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely</span>
  </em>
  <span> know that someone had been in his home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even sleep deprived, the detective was still frustrating him at every turn. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ricky thought his next actions through in his head. There was no way that Tinsley would have remembered how he had exactly placed his bag. Hell, he had probably just dropped it on his way to bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’ll just grab the bag, put it to the side, do some snooping, and then put it back when he was done. Simple, and no one would be the wiser. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ricky did just that. Grabbing the bag, he let it lean against the wall, and entered the room. The windows in front of the paper-covered desk illuminated the small room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Walking over, he spotted a filing cabinet against a wall, and a clock above it. There were no personal items that Ricky could see immediately. They were probably in the other room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For about the next half-hour, Ricky looked through folders, searched through papers, trying to keep everything where it was before. That was especially hard to do, because it seemed as though the detective had his own… system. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>While at first glance it seemed like a mess, you could tell that the detective could tell where everything was. He piled papers that had to do with victims together, and in another pile was papers and documents about the families. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ricky couldn’t find anything about the suspects of the case, which had him to believe that they had none. But… where were the papers on past suspects? He had seen other detectives bring in people, so surely Tinsley must have looked into them, taken others' advice? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe he had tried to take a new approach to the case, start from scratch? Most of the ‘suspects’ were just people there at the wrong place at the wrong time, or were brought in simply because of discrimination or prejudice. Ricky was hopeful to note that Tinsley had seen how stupid it was just to bring in someone just because of their skin color. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took a glance at the clock, and sighed. He wanted to get Night’s job done as soon as possible, because he had a meeting with some of the council members in his mothers’ stead. That means getting up “bright and early”. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hunched over the papers for so long, he stood up and stretched, before spotting a stack of blank paper off to the side. A thought crept into his mind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He contemplated it. On one hand, he could write a note to the detective, keep him on his guard. But on the other hand, it would only make him more paranoid than he already was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shook his head, and left the room, letting the bag lean against the door again. Hearing something from the other room, Ricky froze. Waiting a moment, he listened, before moving again. It was just the detective, muttering something. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No time to dwell or dilly daddle. He had to get moving, help Night, and get home. Ricky was tired. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hey guys! So, I'm not sure if I will be able to post next week because I have finals next week. I will try my hardest to, but I'm not quite sure. Sorry, and again, tips and advice are really appreciated!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey all! I'm sorry that this is kind of late, considering it is around 10 or 11pm where I live. Finals has really punted down a flight of multiple stairs, so this chapter is kind of shit. It is also kind of short, but the next chapter should hopefully be much longer.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Tinsley awoke with a start, breathing heavily. As always, he couldn’t recall why he had woken up, but he knew that it was bad. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t think straight. His mind was racing with nonexistent threats and noises. Every shadow looked like a monster, an enemy, just waiting to strike. He didn’t scream, or make a sound.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trying to gather his thoughts, he tried to recall what Banjo had always said when he got like this. All messed up and unsteady. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He couldn’t breath</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Number 1) Don’t fight it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Not a problem. He was a rational person; there was nothing </span>
  <em>
    <span>to </span>
  </em>
  <span>fight.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Number 2) Try and relax.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Easier said than done, but Tinsley tried. Oh, he tried. He got up, kneeling on the ground - </span>
  <em>
    <span>when had he fallen?</span>
  </em>
  <span> - and felt his fingers tap out the rhythm he had gotten so used to. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Breathe in for four counts, hold for seven, out for eight</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There he sat, fingers tapping for a few minutes, letting his breathing and heart slow. His eyesight gazed firmly onto the wooden floors in front of him, never wandering. He needed something to ground him.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Number 3) Get up and do something. And something means something besides work, C. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He needed to do something. What time was it?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He glanced up at the clock above his dresser. The time read 4 am. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Not again.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Shakily, he rose to his feet, gripping his sheets to pull himself up. Glancing down at himself, he realized that he was a mess. He was sweaty, shaky, and he had fallen asleep in his work clothes. His chest hurt, and he swore up and down that his heart was about to explode right out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Standing for a moment, he took a quick look around him, mostly out of habit, but also to reassure himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As always, it was just him in his bedroom. The monsters became the shadows of various furniture, and the echoing sounds became the wind howling outside his window. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He needed to do something. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Moving slowly, he walked around his house. Nothing seemed out of place, and his bag was where he had dropped it; right in front of his office door. No one was inside his kitchen or living room, waiting to attack him. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You’re becoming paranoid, CC.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What’s wrong with you?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>We miss you, CC.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I never left!” Tinsley wanted to shout at the voices in his head, mimicking old friends and coworkers alike. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, no, he wasn’t becoming paranoid. He knew what happened to paranoid or obsessive detectives, and he didn’t need to be taken off another case. He wouldn’t let his fears get in the way of his work, or his life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He needed to calm down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tinsley took a look outside, listening as the cars drove past under his window. Maybe a walk would do him some good. Yeah, a walk sounded nice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Methodically, he walked towards the door, grabbed his coat, and put on his shoes. It was done on instinct; he wasn’t even thinking about what he was doing. When he refocused on the world around him, he saw himself on the sidewalk, a couple of blocks down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The city had grown quiet, thought Tinsley had sworn that he had just heard cars just a minute ago. He became aware of the cool air around him, and the clouds covering the moon, though streams of light did pass by every so often. The streetlights were on, illuminating the dark houses and buildings around him. It was eerie, which was disturbing the </span>
  <em>
    <span>peaceful</span>
  </em>
  <span> walk he was supposed to be having. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He continued on, watching the shadows surrounding him carefully. The houses and apartments led to businesses and shops, all dark. Tinsley breathed in and out, in and out, over and over again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was his home, the place he grew up. Sure, it wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>exactly </span>
  </em>
  <span>where he grew up, but it was close enough. And, sure, it had changed during the years he was gone, but it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>his </span>
  </em>
  <span>Chicago. The place where he grew up, the place he chose to protect, along with the other men and women in the police department. He would be damned if someone tried to mess with it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cold wind nipped at his ears and nose, bringing him back to reality. Surprise, surprise, his feet had taken him to the local pub. Great.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Like every other building on the street, it was quiet and dark. Of course no one would be drinking at this time; it was too early. Speaking of too early, Tinsley turned away, thinking that it was time to go home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was, of course, before he heard a scream come from inside of the bar, and an order being barked, before silence. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Goddammit</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Tinsley thought. His entire monologue went out the window; it was too early for this. He reached into his coat, finding his revolver in one of the giant pockets. His subconscious mind was a paranoid prick.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Without thinking, he went into the alley next to the bar, looking for a side entrance, gun in hand. He could rationalize later, when it figured out the situation at hand. He just wanted a closer look before asking any of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>important</span>
  </em>
  <span> questions, such as, I don’t know, </span>
  <em>
    <span>does he need backup?</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Ignoring the part of his brain that said that this was a bad idea, and that he should wait, he found the door leading into the bar. Unlocked, and swinging from side to side, like it had just been opened. Probably for a quick escape.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He slowly approached it, and, sticking his head through the doorway, he looked left and right. Another scream was heard, before being stamped down, </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he eased himself into the hallway, he followed the sounds of whimpers and pleas, too garbled to make out any words. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>How do I do this?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>--------------------------------------------------------------------</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robert Smith. That was the man’s name. An informant for Night, working as an intern for one of the law firms in Chicago. A small and menial job, but the perfect place to grab information. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unfortunately, he liked his whiskey a bit too much, and had blabbed a bit too much to one of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>known</span>
  </em>
  <span> undercover detectives in Chicago. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I mean, when you dress like a Hollywood cartoon mobster, you’re bound to grab some attention, and not the good kind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was also the added bonus that Smith liked messing around with women and kids that he came across. Ricky would have to find the families that he had hurt, and give them something to help out. For now, he was more than happy to take care of him, at Night's request.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Night had dragged Smith to a bar, coincidentally quite close to the detective’s place, and Ricky had shown up to take care of him. To save himself some trouble, he carried along a white mask, used for theater, stolen from Francesca. Just in case. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dealing with informants was messy, but necessary to make a statement. There was making them suffer, and then the actual kill. There was cutting out the tongue, the eyes, and then slitting his throat. Like he said, messy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Most people started with the tongue, so their victim wouldn’t scream. But Ricky was always trying to stray from the crowd. The eyes went first, with Night holding the guy’s throat down with the heel of his foot. Every time he tried to scream or plead, it was cut with a push of Night’s shoe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tongue went next, and Ricky was surprised at how long Smith managed to stay alive, considering the amount of blood covering the scene. Blood loss usually finished them off, from Ricky’s experience, but the alcohol in Smith’s system might have given him a temporary adrenaline rush.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally was the slit to the throat, and the job was done. Nothing too excessive, and all necessary parts were done and accounted for. Ricky took a look at Night, his pristine suit untouched by the blood that stained Ricky. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Want me to draw the Z’s too?” Ricky asked, giving his brother a playful smile. Night grimaced in disgust, and rolled his eyes. He looked away, searching his pockets for a lighter and cigarette. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Night was starting out, he had been an apprentice of sorts to another mob boss. He needed to make a name for himself, and, of course, you needed a calling card. Night’s brilliant idea was to draw Z’s on the forehead of his victims, like the ones you would see in children’s books. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not the brightest idea his brother has had, but Night had, fortunately, grown out of that. Now, Night Night was a feared name, as was his partner, Legs. Course, in the public eye, he was just Nick Bergara, friend and coworker to Logan Madej, and brother to a reporter at the Chicago Tribune. He was a successful lawyer, keeping his men out of jail, and had accumulated a reputation for being notorious with his debates and words. Every police department’s nightmare. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ricky, still smiling, looked down upon his work. Nonchalantly, he wiped the blood from his knife on to his shirt. The Mayor was going to throw a fit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anyone going to pick him up?” Ricky questioned, looking over at Night. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, let ‘im be found here. If he liked booze so much, why not be found in a bar, huh?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure,” Ricky replied, shrugging, stepping over the body. He took a look at the room in front of him, more out of habit than anything. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blood splattered most of the tables and chairs surrounding the body, as well as the hardwood floors beneath it. Night, in an effort to subdue Smith in the beginning, had slammed his head into the bar’s tabletop, covering that in blood too. The shot glass he had originally been nurturing had blood coating the outside of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We should head out. The sooner we leave, the sooner I can go to bed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aw, does Night Night need to go night night?” Ricky cooed, letting his head fall into his hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I swear to god, I wi-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Night could finish his threat, or let Ricky get another mocking in, a loud crash was heard from Ricky’s left, or Night’s right, followed by a quiet swear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck!” Night yelled out, turning around and running out the front door, effectively leaving Ricky to deal with whoever was watching them. He may have been good with words, but an ok fighter at best. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What a kind brother</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The person who had caused the disturbance, jumped out. Ricky tightened his hold on his knife, getting ready to strike. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Chicago PD! Put your hands where I can see them!”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Aw, fuck.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hey! So, I have no clue what alcohol does to a person, so take what I wrote with a grain of salt. Also, please do not put yourself in a high risk situation after a panic attack like Tinsley here. Please take care of yourself! Also, have a great winter break, to those who have it!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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